Void and Vastness
by LuvEwan
Summary: The dark, fateful night that marks the end of one life and the beginning of another in a single heart. A complete TPM vignette.


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Void & Vastness

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The dark, fateful night that marks the end of one life and the beginning of another in a single heart.

PG 

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Disclaimer: The Star Wars Universe is the sole property of George Lucas. I receive no profit from this, or any work related to the franchise.

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Disclaimer 2: I started writing this in June and thought I should finish it up, since I was stuck on my other stories. Nothing new or particularly interesting, so be warned. This is oft-tread territory here.

The deep, rich obsidian spread across his vision, a black horizon whose purity was ruined by the clusters of tiny white pinpricks. As he narrowed his gaze, sharp and keen, the blue-tinted haze swarming the distant echoes of light was clear, so that each glowing ethereal thread could be traced.

Obi-Wan remembered climbing up to the highest creche window, blunt, pudgy fingers pressed against the glass, reverent breaths appearing as warm clouds on the transparent surface, and mind filled with night's glittering blanket. 

Staring out from the confines of the massive Temple, he would smile softly, and wonder why the stars swirled as if in the midst of a secret, tender rhythm.

During tumultuous moments, Obi-Wan would look to space, and feel some bare sense of serenity.

But tonight, with the cold biting and atmosphere…_distracting_, the Jedi Padawan realized that the familiar backdrop was still.

Halted in the much-beloved dance.

Dead to needful eyes.

Motionless as his heart, it seemed. 

He sighed, resting his chin on the heel of his hand, knees pressed to his chest. The padded bench was tucked into a lonely corner of the vessel; a place that bathed his smooth, gold-tinted skin in shadow and caressed the shape of his cheekbone in liquid dusk.

Voices floated from the distance. The quiet murmurs of handmaidens, young girls swathed in identical, flowing velvet garb, passive demeanors replaced by true personality, drifting past him, a flicker of their chestnut eyes denouncing the idea that he was invisible here. 

A disagreeing sound from Panaka, who was engaged in some irritated debate with a fellow bodyguard.

The mellifluous lilt of the Queen added to the mesh of sound as she conversed with her most trusted protector. Sabe laughed lightly at something the sovereign said and muttered her own sly response.

Obi-Wan tipped his head to rest against the window. The veil of secrecy surrounding the two within the Force would soon be lifted, the apprentice predicted with a feeble ghost of a smile. For now, he marveled at their level of skillful deception…The two girls had even managed to fool his attentive Master, if only for awhile….

His Master.

He swallowed, sealing his eyes against the artificial lighting as if it were potent as the blinding rays of a sun.

Qui-Gon's rumbling vocals could also be heard within the silvery, steel bowels of the ship. Its crisp, cultured tone rose above the others, even with the rivalry of Anakin Skywalker's loud exclamations.

He did not mean to eavesdrop, would have rather jammed his fingers tight in his ears than listen to their friendly exchange. His Master, the man he had spent half his life beside, was most likely oblivious to his student, focus trained on the chatting child, interjecting whenever prompted.

An ache collected in Obi-Wan's chest. 

He tried to understand Qui-Gon's perspective. After all, he was a revered member of the Order, trusted with missions and the weight of responsibility others would cripple under. He was the rumored rogue, the eloquent mediator, the hardened warrior…the seasoned teacher.

Surely he foresaw an incredible future for the boy, an illustrious destiny…A path that must be followed, even if it meant that certain obstacles would be cast from the fabled avenue of the Chosen One.

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Of course, I was always in the way. 

Obi-Wan found there was no bitterness within him at the sharp knowledge. More a grinding pain in his spirit, old and ever reborn, in the disappointed twitch of a bearded lip, in the heavy dash of a callused hand wordlessly dismissing--in the cool detachment of serene, azure eyes. 

He found he could not, with any conscience, place blame for the breach Qui-Gon Jinn so often allowed to widen between them. After all, he had been a solitary man, perfectly content living adrift from others.

Qui-Gon had not asked for the awkward youth, with gangly limbs and desperate smile, pushing the Master in a direction he had no intention of taking, pressuring a compassionate mind.

Sweeping in during a moment of weakened resolve, taking advantage when a lucky show of courage swayed the man. 

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Blinding myself to his hesitations.

Swallowing down a sudden constriction in his throat, Obi-Wan chanced a glance toward his Master and his new, exuberant charge. 

The gentle smile that brushed across Qui-Gon's leonine visage was a dagger, crafted so carefully over those years of barren affection, sliding easily into the wounded flesh of Obi-Wan's mind. 

But, despite his private agony, he too was brought to a trembling smile. 

For when he saw his mentor in the midst of open happiness, he could not help but rejoice. Too many hidden tears spiked in undeserving eyes, too many hardships endured.

And now, at last, after decades of chasing the ghost of true greatness, Qui-Gon had touched upon something solid, a palpable manifestation of his dreams. 

Obi-Wan had sometimes wondered what his Master thought he would find…he had never imagined it would be a mere child, and that his good-natured teasing of the man's lenience toward 'pathetic lifeforms' would one day hurt as acutely as--No, not even with his painful history as a Jedi, the Padawan could not compare the agony.

But still, he could smile. He leaned his head against the high cushion of the seat, wanting to sink into the depths of it, and beyond, into space, into an oblivion that did not allow heartache to enter its void and vastness. Yet he was a Jedi and lust for such release was wrong, was against everything he had been taught in the hallowed halls. 

So he let his eyes drift closed and beneath the lids was nothing.

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Nothing. 

For a moment, he lingered there, echoes of his early days rippling in his mind. _Nothing_. His beliefs had always been framed, in some way, around that notion. 

At first, he was filled with the heady confidence of a child, a boy who could leap high, as if in flight and occasionally astound his instructors. There was nothing he couldn't do.

Then, standing in the dwindling ranks, seeing the disturbed reactions of the Masters to his anger and intensity, feeling the self-assuredness banked slowly, watching as his age mates walked toward their new lives while he remained at a forced standstill, until there was no one save himself, alone in a cold room, an empty room that began to seep inside him…and he was becoming nothing…

And Qui-Gon Jinn was there, a phantom that faded in and out, his presence in itself a taunt. Because being _chosen_ would give him purpose, would offer him fulfillment, would prove that he could be more than a nonentity, existing as pale shadow on crumbled wall. 

It did. 

For twelve years, when doubt of his skill or his place surfaced, there was always the comforting weight of attachment. He was bound to the rogue Master of the Order…

Now suddenly, the ties were clipped, and he was free falling.

Anakin would replace him…Or not even _replace,_ why would Qui-Gon want to supplant a role in his life that was never cherished or wanted? He would not replace Obi-Wan with Anakin. 

He would forget Obi-Wan.

He would be remembered for Anakin. 

And there was _nothing…nothing _Obi-Wan could do.

It was a matter of legacy, of having balance. Qui-Gon was a great Jedi. Anakin would be, if the prophecy was of merit. 

The fact that, even without teaching the Chosen One, Qui-Gon Jinn would be remembered…that had little value.

Obi-Wan was not an equal, would always be struggling up a mountain while his Master and his Master's apprentice stood eternal at the summit. 

So his loving remembrance of Qui-Gon would not hold much worth--was perhaps the dust from the mountain's face, clouding dark in his eyes, causing him to tumble further.

And the dust was the sting in his eyes as he sat on the starship, blinking, slits of light coloring his periphery. 

Obi-Wan would remember--because he couldn't forget.

The Council Chamber had been the site of his personal destruction, and when the fateful words passed from Qui-Gon's lips, concurrently a thought was slipped from his mind to Obi-Wan's, a final, soft touch before the killing blow.

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'I'm sorry.'

Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel the same. 


End file.
